  On a river ever broadening as it made its way toward the far distant sea, rode a crude skin canoe. In the canoe rode Gordon Duncan, his granddaughter Faye and the two Indians. They had not left that canoe since they entered it, and that had been sixteen hours back. To the white man and the girl this wild journey had been a constant strain; to the Indians it was but the day’s work. Many times before for twenty, thirty hours they had ridden thus without sleeping. To land now was impossible; to turn back was out of the question. Besides, who would turn back? Had they not, but a quarter of an hour ago, caught a glimpse of that which they sought? They had rounded a rocky ledge where the river ran between low hills and had come upon a long, straight stretch of water. At the end of that stretch a dark object specked the water. Gordon Duncan had lifted the glass once to his eyes and said: “It’s Timmie.” The raft and the man had disappeared at once beyond a bend in the river; yet there was now ground for hope. And here they were still driving their boat forward, still hoping that before disaster befell that aged recluse and his crazy craft, they might overtake him and save him from a terrible death. For, should they fail, disaster from crowding ice, rushing rapids and the mad spring upheaval must surely overtake him. “And he once saved my life,” said Gordon Duncan. “We may have been hasty, followed him too far. It’s too late to think of that now. We can only follow on.” The journey thus far had been exciting, but quite safe. There was a wild charm about it all, the racing water, the black, brown and green of fleeting landscape, the occasional flocks of wild ducks that shot by them, and the smell of spring everywhere charmed the young Scotch girl. Yet it was dangerous. They might meet disaster at any turn. Her grandfather had told Faye this, and she believed it. The water they passed over at first had seemed white. That was because the winter ice still lay still beneath the surface water that had rushed down from hills and mountains. “If it should rise beneath us!” she said with a shudder. When, after a half hour of dreamy half-sleeping, she looked at the water, it was black. “Ice has gone out down here,” her grandfather explained. “Then we are safe?” “Far from it. The ice before us may jam at any point. It will then pile mountain high. If there are steep banks as here, we will face disaster.” The girl did not say, “Then why not turn back?” She knew the man too well. He had seen what seemed to him a duty. He could but go on. “If only Johnny Longbow were here!” she thought. * * * * * * * * Johnny Longbow was surprised and not a little frightened on seeing the hunchback close beside him. “What now?” he thought as his heart skipped a beat. “He was not so sleepy as I supposed. He’s followed me. Did he believe me to be running away? If so, what then?” Whatever might be the strange creature’s feelings in the matter, the grin he bestowed upon Johnny was friendly enough. His actions during the next few minutes showed plainer than words that he knew more than Johnny did about the whole affair. Selecting a smooth surface of snow, he scooped out a channel for a distance of twenty feet. This channel was a foot wide and two inches deep. Next, having searched out a bundle of brittle twigs, he began breaking one up and laying the pieces side by side in the bottom of the channel. When he had constructed a rude square some eight inches across, he selected certain bent and twisted bits of wood and, with a skill that seemed extraordinary, created a tiny image of a man with a paddle in his hand. This he placed well to the front upon the small platform. Back of this he built up a miniature sled and four dogs. All this was Greek to Johnny. When, however, with a few clever twists the man had made a small boat and, after placing four figures within it, had dropped it in the shallow channel, it all came to Johnny like a flash. “The snow channel represents the river,” he told himself. “The figures in the skin boat are my friends and the two Indians. But that before them must be a raft. What of that?” He studied over this for some time without reaching a conclusion. That a raft was passing on before his friends, and that it carried a man, a sled and four dogs, this much was certain. But who was the man? “Don’t matter,” he told himself. “Might be anyone, a trapper, a prospector, a lone Indian. But my comrades have gone ahead. How am I to overtake them?” In his eyes as he tried in vain to catch some glimpse of those who had glided from his field of vision was a glint of despair. The hunchback, who during all this time had been studying his face, did not appear satisfied. Selecting larger sticks, he constructed on the ground a larger raft. With infinite pains he built up a new wooden man, four dogs and a sled. Then, with equal care he began moulding small models from snow. One was a rude cooking pot, another a flat pan, a third a prehistoric lamp. Other figures were added. When all these were done, he piled them on the newly made raft, and atop them all, a disc of metal taken from a pocket of his skin trousers. Still Johnny did not understand. When he shook his head, the hunchback seized the metal affair and pressed it into his hand. “Green,” he told himself as he turned it over, “Green like copper, but heavy as lead. What can it be? What— “Green gold!” he cried excitedly. “And now I understand. It is Timmie and his green gold they are following. He rides ahead on a raft.” Seeing that he was at last understood, the hunchback roared with hoarse laughter. After that, having seized Johnny’s hunting knife, with a few clever strokes he shaped a miniature canoe. In this he placed two sticks. After pointing to one, he struck Johnny a light blow. Then, after touching the other, he smote his own breast. Dropping the toy canoe in the snow channel, he moved it along until it was abreast the skin boat. Then both boats overtook the raft. “That’s plain enough,” the boy told himself. “We are to get into a boat and pursue them. We will overtake my friends. Then together we will overhaul Timmie and his raft load of dogs and green gold. Only question is, where’s our boat?” As if understanding the question, the hunchback laid heavy hands upon him, turned him half about and marched him down the river. |
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